The Elite's Tale
by 1292 Negative Calculate
Summary: Oneshot. Another "slice of life" short, in the Halo universe.     A group of Covenant troops are camping on an alien planet.  Their leader, an Elite, decides to entertain his companions with a story...


**The Elite's Tale  
****By: Danny Pic**

Hey everyone!  
Alright, I have another little treat for you! This is my first official Halo story!

Ok, here's the backstory, to set the scene and introduce the characters. And to top it off… it's in Poetry form! Hope you like it!

In the year 2552, four warriors of the Covenant travelled to a distant planet in the Gliese 876 system. The four aliens were part of a scouting party, seeking important Forerunner artifacts which the Covenant could use to further their knowledge about the great race. They had learned of a possible artifact buried on one of the 4 planets in the system, and the four of them were sent to locate and retrieve it.

Ok, that's the story. So keep in mind that the original story started at the point where the Elite is telling the story; in other words, the first half of the story was written after the real story was already done.

And just so everybody knows, I OWN NOTHING! And with that, I say… enjoy the show!

The group sat down around the small campfire in the center of their camp. A Shangheili, clad in blue and silver combat-class battle armor, set down a sack of food next to the tarp. He sighed; another long day of searching had gone by, unsuccessful as usual. He looked at his fellow seekers, observing each of them struggling to prepare themselves for the night. He saw his second-in-command, a Jiralhanae gladiator, helping Yap-Flip, the smaller Grunt, carry his liquid food containers with him. The vicious Skirmisher slept, tied up to a sturdy pillar of rock for safety. (_But not for_ his _safety…_)

As the Elite's eyes fell upon the second-in-command of the team, a wave of disappointment swept over him. The Brute was a powerful warrior, tasked to protect the team from any dangerous foes they encountered. He was remarkably strong for a Brute, and was extremely proud of his might. However, his strength and pride also made him arrogant and hasty. He wasn't the sharpest of fighters, preferring to smash first, and ask questions later. Complex theories such as physics and chemistry confused him; as a result, he often tended to accept life as it was, without questioning why or how things were.

"I don't get why we gotta do this dumb stuff, anyhow," the Brute said, hauling a container of Grunt liquid-food. Yap-Flip jumped as the container smashed into the ground before him. He was an Unggoy; he did most of the "Grunt-work", and also doubled as the pilot of their ship. He was a cowardly little wimp of a Grunt, even for a Grunt, and he had narrowly escaped becoming cannon fodder on the battlefield by being chosen to accompany the four of them on their relic-seeking missions. As stated before, Yap-Flip was extraordinarily cowardly; he would run in fear from even the smallest bug. How such a wimpy little creature became the amazing pilot that he was remained a mystery.

"I-Isn't rest-up good, and regain strength, s-sir?" Yap-Flip asked, shaking like a worm. The Brute eyed him, bearing his teeth in agitation. "I mean why we're taking' our dear sweet time trying' to find this Holy artifact!"

"P-Please, sir!" stuttered the Grunt, waving his arms about frantically. "We not want to wake up F-F-Fluffy." The Brute quieted down as both of the aliens looked to the rock pillar, as if checking to see that the rope was still secure.

The Skirmisher kicked slightly as he slept, a sign that he was in the middle of a dream. The alien was a member of the Kig-Yar race; however, he was a specific type of the race known as a "Skirmisher" – a larger, stronger version of the smaller Jackals many were so familiar with. This particular Skirmisher was incredibly dangerous – he had eaten the dead remains of the last four teams he was assigned to. He was so primeval and violent that the others had begun treating him more like an animal than a crewman. The dinosaur-like being had slain many a foe before, and his yellow reptilian eyes were enough to unnerve even the Brute.

The two aliens simultaneously sighed in relief, grateful that their reptilian ally hadn't been disturbed by the Brute's yelling.

The Shangheili sighed to himself. He looked at his right shoulder-pad, which was colored gold and red, and shaped differently than the rest of his armor. It was a command shoulder pad, signifying that he was the leader of these warriors – the one who led the group to their goal, by the will of the Prophets. In his own words, however, he felt more like the one responsible for preventing the others from eating each other before they found the artifact. He was a veteran of war and combat, well-known for his past victories, impressive swordsman skills, and wise leadership. He had intended to retire, and spend his days teaching the younger Elites to fight with Energy Swords, spreading honor and fairness to the next generation. However, at the moment he was still in service, although he was now leading missions to retrieve Forerunner relics.

But, he thought, once he was through, then he could finally relax while doing something useful.

"I just don't get," the Brute resumed, quieter than before, "why the Prophets didn't give us better equipment to do this. I mean its bad enough that we're sitting' here in the middle of nowhere when we could be out looking' for that relic. But we don't have nothing good to fight with, neither!" He strode over to their weapons case, and bean picking up weapons.

"Hand-guns!" he said, gesturing to a small plasma pistol.

He tossed it aside, then picked up a Needler, held it up, and growled, "Wimpy little darts!"

"An' utter JUNK!" he announced, holding up a Plasma Rifle. "They don't even give us updated weaponry; just hand-me-down scrap and trash!"

He put the rifle back into the case. "I don't get how they expect us to do it without better tools and guns," he growled.

"So just because we don't have Lascannons or sniper rifles, we're doomed?" interrupted another voice.

The Brute and the Grunt turned toward the leader Shangheili, who had decided to inject some wisdom into the argument. He was walking closer towards the fire, and looking at the second-in-command with an inquisitive expression that seemed to say, "Don't try to hide your thoughts from me."

The Brute stammered. "Uh…uh…I-I didn't mean it like that, sir, hones –"

"– It's alright, Lieutenant," the Elite said, holding up a hand. "I understand your opinion, and I agree with your statement about our lack of equipment."

The others* were astonished at their leader's statement. He almost _never_ agreed with a statement from his subordinates! The Brute responded, "…uh…y-you agree, sir?"

"Sure," the Elite replied. "I mean, considering what we're looking for, we should have a whole fleet with us, and several super-weapons in tow."

The Brute nodded in agreement. "Then why are we going out and doing this when we don't have alot? I mean, wouldn't it be better to stock up on stuff like that before we go?"

"Well," said the Elite, "while I do agree that we're under-equipped, I also know that we can be just as useful with this junk and trash as with bigger weapons."

"Really?" the Brute replied, unconvinced.

"Certainly; in fact, looking for a bigger weapon often causes trouble, as far as I've seen."

The Jiralhanae looked flabbergasted at this comment. Weapons causing _problems_? "How could better weapons be a problem?" he cried out.

"Maybe you'll understand better if I tell you all a story," the Elite answered. "The concept itself is difficult to explain on its own."

The Brute nodded; soon, he and Yap-Flip were seated around the fire, ready to listen to their leader's tale.

"Let us suppose," the Elite began, "that a long time ago, there was a mighty Jiralhanae. He was the strongest of his tribe, and the most valiant and bravest warrior of his group. His name was Gro'trath, but he was called 'Malum' by his peers. Now as I said before, he was the strongest of his group – more powerful than even the biggest Mgalekgolo**. He was a legend among his peers and comrades, notable for doing the near-impossible. However, he occasionally let the attention he received go to his head, and sometimes went along with his own plans instead of following orders."

"Anyway, because of Malum's strength and determination in battle, his superiors gave him a special, very important mission. A prophet had arrived a few days ago, to give a sermon about the Forerunners, and our mission of holiness. Unfortunately, there was a group of heretics sited nearby, who also knew of the prophet's arrival. It was entirely probable that they would try to assassinate the hierarch before he could spread his word. Thus, Malum was tasked to guard the hierarch."

"His commander positioned him on top of an arched gate – similar to a castle wall – which led to the prophet's quarters. He was given a collection of ten-pound rocks, and positioned on top of the arch, hidden from ground view. His commander said to him, "Malum, your task is simple. If you see an enemy trying to come through these gates, I want you to throw one of these rocks at him and kill him. You must not let any heretics get to the Prophet. Are we clear?"

"Malum nodded. "Yes sir," he said, "they shall not pass!"

"His commander nodded, satisfied. He then left, to check up on the other guards. Malum was satisfied; he was guarding one of the most powerful leaders of the Covenant. And so he waited."

"Now, after a few hours, nothing had happened, and Malum was getting bored. He looked around, and saw a larger rock – about twice the size of the rocks he was given. He thought a moment, and decided that since he was so strong, he could use this larger rock instead, and maybe cause more damage to any intruder. So he went over and picked up the larger rock, which was about twenty pounds instead of ten. Malum lifted it, and was able to lift it over his head with one arm. He smiled, admiring his strength, and returned to his vigil."

"Another few hours passed by, and Malum was quickly losing interest. By now, he was wishing that an enemy would show up, just to show his strength off. He looked at the twenty-pound rock he had gotten, and thought that maybe there was an even _bigger_ rock nearby, which could do a LOT more damage than this one. So he looked around, and found a huge rock – easily twice as large as the twenty-pound rock. He decided to go and take that rock to his position, to crush any intruder easily! He lifted it up, and had to use both hands to carry it. And then…it happened."

There was a pause. The air was filled with tension and suspense. Finally, the Brute exclaimed, "Well, what happened?"

"He tripped," the Elite replied calmly. "He was focused on carrying the heavy boulder that he didn't notice a small nook in the ground which caused him to trip. And when he tripped, the boulder fell, and crushed one of his arms. He survived the injury, but his arm was crushed, and he couldn't move it. And then, as he crawled to the edge of the arch to look over, who should he see but a heretic assassin, walking right through the gate. And there Malum was, crippled and not even able to lift the original ten-pound rock to counter-attack."

"And so, because of Malum's impatience and arrogance, he was unable to save the hierarch from the heretic assassin," finished the Elite. "So you see now? If Malum had not gotten impatient and focused on looking for a bigger rock, he would've been able to complete his task without any problems."

Yap-Flip clapped his hands; "T-That was great story, boss!" he said in a high-pitched voice. The Elite smiled. "I'm happy you enjoyed it, Yap-Flip.", he said.

The brute looked back at the Elite. "I understand, sir. I still can't help but feel we could use some better weaponry than these," he said, gesturing towards the plasma pistols and knives they were given.

"Don't assume that we are totally defenseless, Jiralhanae. Even the most basic of items can be a great weapon, if used properly. You must learn that what matters is not the weapon, but the warrior who wields it." The brute nodded, and laid down on the ground. "Now get some rest, men," the Elite announced. "We'll need it, if we are to find this relic."

So what dija think? I know it's not as great as some of my other stories, but there's a reason behind it.

See, uh…to be honest, I didn't actually write this for fun. What you just read was part of an English project I did last year. See, we were reading _The Canterbury Tales_, and our project was to create our own Prologue, introducing four characters in a similar manner to the original. The catch was that we had to make it a modern day version. (_But I asked, and my teacher said I could do Sci-Fi._) And as a bonus, we could have one of the characters tell a tale similar to the stories the characters in _Canterbury Tales_, but we couldn't re-tell the same story.

Anyway, so I remembered this neat little story I read, in one of my other books, about a castle guard who had to drop stones on enemies from above. And since I was in a Halo-phase, since Halo Reach was coming out, it wasn't that hard to re-make that story for a Covenant standpoint. And so I made a prologue of my own, and made these four characters, and had the Shangheili tell the story I read. And the end result looked something like what you've just read, except in the project version, I cut right to the story. For this edition, I made up the first half.  
(_I did pretty good on the project, in case you're curious._)

So anyway, read and review! Hope you enjoy!

Footnotes:

* – _minus Fluffy the Skirmisher, since he's asleep_

** – _otherwise known as a "Hunter"_


End file.
